Kiss Me, World. I'll Bend Over.

I'm in kind of a pissy mood. I'll tell you that right now, right before I type anything else, so you'll know and therefore can decide if you want to stay tuned to listen to me whine.

You know, I've been a bad girl lately, and when I say lately I mean for about the past 8 months. And I don't really even know if I've been a bad girl as much as I've been a neglectful girl, but that's mass rationalizing and I know that I've been a bad girl indeed.

And by bad, I mean lazy.

It all started when the weather got cold, after last fall. It was time for me to shift from the walking thing, which I'd shifted to from the swimming thing, into the something else thing. The something else I could do indoors thing. Yes, I needed some form of cold weather exercise, and sadly, as I was wracking my brain about what one could do indoors after work, my brain kept hitting upon one certain trio of activity. And that trio was sitting on my ass in the Comfy Chair, napping and watching TV. And I chose it. I grabbed at it like it was the greatest thing since sliced cheese.

And it was. Until now, when I find myself with my first weight gain in 3 1/2 years, a wardrobe of really tight clothes (I began by blaming the dryer - "This dryer's shrinking my clothes!"), and the prospect of donning my Sauerkraut Band dirndl in less than a month, after having tried it on and realizing I resemble a blue sausage in the thing. (Thank heavens it's the dress that's blue, not me. Though breathing is kept to a minimum.)

I'm disgusted. I started being disgusted a while back, which was also when I started getting out and exercising again, walking nightly and writing blogs almost as often, on miles and steps and laps of the 7 foot tall guy versus the 5 foot 3 girl. I stopped worrying about steps and miles and went for time, but in the end, folks, let's face it. Walking is boring. I mean, if you're walking down the Blue Ridge Parkway, it's probably rather exciting, but I walk in a circle on a track at our town's middle school. To the south are some right nice hills, but as you wind around back north you're looking at Rt 460, and it's not very inspirational. And besides, all that walking with my hands swinging down at my sides caused my hands and fingers to swell so badly I couldn't make a fist.

So I was fat, and I was depressed. Cut to a different story for a minute.

Here's where I've really got a chip on my shoulder and a stick in my craw. Protein. I also spent most of last summer and fall not doing so well with the protein. Remember, I'm supposed to consume more grams of protein in a day than I could ever hold, and so what I can't get in with food I'm supposed to get in with supplements, yes, the old Orange Crapius you and I know so well. I more than you. A fact for which you should be eternally grateful.

I was doing approximately zero Orange Crapii per day, and maybe one per week. That changed when my hair started falling out again, and my ass-kicking buddy TT told me I was going to end up dead in a gutter one day if I didn't start loading in a little protein. And so I did, and I don't know where exactly the wherewithal to stick with that came from, but it must come from somewhere because I keep doing it. And I guess it pays off in the end because the last time I was in the hairstylist's chair, she said she'd never seen my hair so thick and healthy.

And there are other benefits of Orange Crapius too, I suppose. It flushes the kidneys. It's good for my muscles. It also helps me get in a good portion of my liquids for the day. But it's still orange, and it's still crappy.

I've also cut out all the snacks I found myself eating, the protein bars, which don't have as much protein as the Crapius, but are the only thing approaching a sweet taste I'll ever get again. I bought boxes and boxes of them, and realized quite quickly I was also eating boxes and boxes of them, and that wasn't a good thing. So I quit. Cold turkey. Any kind of chip is out, potato chips, corn chips, Doritos. I found myself buying and eating those without even thinking, so now I'm thinking a bit more and giving them a pass.

OK, now back to exercise.

The whole swollen hands thing, plus the fact that it's really hot here, even in the evenings, has made walking just a nightmare. Even with the ipod I love so much. And so I decided to go back to something I hadn't done in ages. Aerobics. Low-impact aerobics, courtesy of the tape I've had for nigh-on 15 years. It may be old, but it's a good tape, a good workout. I loaded it into the machine a couple of weeks ago, and had at it. It was amazing. There I was, marching and lifting, and panting, saying, "Damn. Why have I been walking? This thing works every single inch of my body and gets me sweating even more than laps at the school in 90 degree heat."

And I'm getting good at it, too! Where in the early days I had to "modify" (the dominatrix, er, aerobics teacher is big on modification, lifting the leg lower, going to a different arms position if you're getting too winded), now I can pretty much do all the movements when I'm supposed to. There's a section after the aerobics with some basic weight training, which I'm doing as well, and though I hate exercise and always will, I at least feel some sense of weak and tired accomplishment when this is all done. Sure, I may not be able to lift my arms to re-open the blinds, but it's a good kind of paralyzed.

I've been doing that almost every day.

My clothes are still too tight.

And so I would now officially, right here in front of God and everybody, like to tell excercise to kiss my ass. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop doing it, but it can just kiss my ass.

Now, of course, along with all the other things I'm doing to try and be a good girl, I'm also remembering to diligently take my vitamins. I don't take all the vitamins I'm supposed to, but I take the ones I need the most, and I have them sitting in conspicuous places around the house to remind me. In the morning, I take calcium. At lunch, magnesium, Occuvite (for the eyes), B12, and the occasional potassium. Later in the afternoon, iron (well, a special iron poly-complex) and vitamin C. Then at bedtime, I chill with a relaxing chewable multi-vitamin. I've been on this merry-go-round of science for about six months now.

The vitamins I take cost, per bottle, anywhere from $3.50 all the way up to $30.00 (the fancy iron). And so I would also like, right here in front of God and everybody, to tell vitamins to kiss my ass. I'm tired of taking them, I'm tired of being tied to any pill, much less eight of them, every day, slogging them around when I travel, and so forth. But I'm taking them. Because I know I'm supposed to. But please, vitamins, just kiss my ass.

Speaking of drugs, I was in the gynecologists' chair back in October - wait, let's correct this immediately. It's not a chair. Chair implies comfort. I was on the gynecologists' table of "whoops my ass is up in the air" back in October, and she gave me another prescription, for the same prescription she gives me every year. That wonder drug a woman takes for ten days, then the very flower of her womanhood makes an appearance (I'm talking about having a period). I'm supposed to take a ten-day round of this drug every other month, but I don't, because it doesn't work, and I don't think you could get a period out of me at this point with a sandblaster. And the sad thing about that is that I'd actually be willing to let someone try.

Anyway, for some Godforsaken reason I decided I'd go ahead and give it the old college try this month, swallow, heave, and see what happens, but since I've started taking this drug, I've been, well.... No, actually, I've been unwell.

I know I'm a woman of a certain age, for I have the hot flashes to prove it, but Lawks a Mercy, what happens to me when I take these pills can not be called a hot flash. It's more like someone took some fireplace bellows, put them in my ear, and pumped fireplace air into my head. Sweat actually pops out on my face and begins to run downwards to my chin. Do you know what it's like to be in your office, with a client, and have that happen?

Today, going back to work after lunch, one of these occurred, and I began to cry. It was quite hard to describe. I couldn't breathe, and I swear for a single moment I saw the Grim Reaper there in the passenger's seat, motioning me to come with him. I didn't want to go, but threw my hands off the wheel and almost went along. Then he disappeared, maybe on an emergency call, and I was left sweating and panting.

The upshot of this is, there's really no reason for me to fix my hair anymore. Or put on makeup. Or, hell, even shower. I'm ruined by 8:30. I looked this morning at the prescription bottle and saw that it's a differently named drug than I normally take. So I'm calling my gynecologist tomorrow and asking her what the deal is. I'm not telling her to kiss my ass, because she's a lovely person, but this drug sure can. Right in front of God and everybody, this period drug can kiss my ass. (And by the by, if one is taking drugs to induce a period, wouldn't you think a hot flash would be its last side effect? Isn't that what you're getting away from?)

And so let's head back to my old friend Orange Crapius. Drinking two of these libations of undelight a day, I go through them fairly fast. And they're very messy. You scoop the powder into your glass, pour in the liquid, and stir like nobody's business. You never get it quite stirred enough, and wet, clumpy bits of Crapius cling to your stirring device. (And I've tried stirring with everything, even a nutmeg grater.) All that vigorous stirring splashes the staining orange liquid onto your clothes and countertops. If you wait too long to start drinking it, the powder begins to settle, and you have to shake the glass to mix it back up. And your kitchen will have crystals of Orange Crapius everywhere, because when you scoop, the powder begins to fly.

OK.

So - the last time I had to order a round of Crapius (I normally order them two large jugs at a time), I noticed something different for sale. Portable Crapius! Yes, plastic jugs (with a cute carrying handle) of individually wrapped packets of Crapius. No scooping, no mixing into a baggie for travel, just the perfect thing for me. And I placed that order so fast your head would spin.

Turns out it is 1) more expensive than the old jug type Crapius, and 2) not so convenient as I thought. Because it doesn't mix as well, and believe me, folks, I've even taken to putting it in my martini shaker (which seems very, very sacrilegious) and shaking the hell out of it, coming out with clumps of Crapius and a lot of foam, and mixing it takes forever, and even pouring the little packet into the glass is still messy.

I guess where I'm going with all this is that I'd like to officially state, more than anything else in this blog, that right here in front of God and everybody, Orange Crapius can kiss my ass. It smells bad, it tastes bad, it takes up my entire lunch hour (yes, it takes an hour to mix one, drink it, then mix another for work), and it's eating up my checking account as well. A month's supply is $90. It smells and tastes bad, and I can't help but think that something non-carbonated that foams like that can't be good for you.

So, let's stop and take some inventory here. I'm fat and depressed, I'm doing some really good exercise that paralyzes me and makes me feel good about myself but hasn't begun to move the pounds, I've cut everything fun out of my diet, I'm broke from Orange Crapius and vitamins, I'm on the edge of hot flash death from the other drug. I'm losing my best buddy from band, Kellie with an ie, and one of my favorite Sauerkraut Band buddies, the lovely and vivacious SaraBeth. I look like a blue sausage in my dirndl, and to be quite honest, I'm just a little bit irritable lately. Yes, me. Irritable.

On the plus side, I'm starting to see some baby blades of grass in my yard. And I made it to 602,000 in Text Twist over the weekend. And you know, that almost makes up for all the above. Almost.

OK. Through whining.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners. So, what will you be doing this Thursday with no hucklebug podcast to listen to?
- Honorable Mentions go to Kellie with an ie, and her, "Tossing, Heaving Garbage. Heavy Loading" (oh, that it weren't true), and Flipsycab, and her, "The Hildebrandt-Goldenstein Honorary Layabout" (which I have absolutely no idea what that means, but it sounds wonderful).
- Runner-Up goes to Michelle the dishy, and her, "Tearing hair, grieving hearing Letterman." (We're better than Letterman? Wow!)
- And this week's winner goes to the DeepFatFriar, and his, "Teaching high Germans Hucklebug lore." (That conjures up a really nice picture, actually.)
- Thanks to all who played - you've all done very well!